A New Experience
by bluewoo22
Summary: How will the heroine in this tale combat the infamous online murderer known as Jeff the killer? With witty banter and quick thinking of course. How can she elude him and save herself being a mere mortal with no special talents or abilities? This story shall hold dark and gory misfortunes and hardships, over all tragedy...eventual hurt/comfort. !THIS IS NOT MEANT FOR CHILDREN!
1. Prologue

"_The killer that has been named "Jeff the Killer" is on yet another rampage in our quiet, peaceful city of Douglasville. Our local law enforcement have been notified to take no chances on letting this crazed murderer harm our exceptional folk here in this lovely town." _The news anchor slowly panned to the left for the transmission to the local weather forecaster's prediction for the next seven days.

Everyone who was located in this tiny little outskirt of Atlanta were silently panicking. Being told by the people who delivered nothing but bad news that a serial killer was on the prowl really shouldn't make their skin crawl this much; however, this did. It's been years since Douglasville has had a problem with things like this. Petty burglary, arson, and drug busts were the only major crimes that happened that actually made the population here scared for their lives. Therefore this, a brand new experience for the common folk here, has shook many of them to their core.

What's the chance that any of them are to be killer at the hands of this psychopath? Maybe about fifty-fifty? Why should you freak out over such a small, yet great, percentage?

I honestly don't know. Things like this happen about once every decade here in Georgia. Who would've known it would be this decade that it would occur? I have so many questions about this; it's ridiculous. This is such a ludicrous idea that I merely chuckled at the thought of someone falling a terrible fate at the knife of this clown look-alike killer. The photo they showed at the follow up story of this strange murderer has of course terrified everyone within this small section of land, yet I just brushed it off as a photoshopping mishap. That kind of face couldn't be natural. It HAD to be altered in some way. No one's face could possibly take on that kind of monstrous form. I truly felt a very dim sorrow for this mislead, misguided soul.

_"He's human. He has weaknesses just like the rest of humanity. There's no way he can be "unstoppable" or "immortal."_ Although that appearance almost makes me want to think otherwise...no. He's just a badly mangled human being. Sure, he may be driven by an empty unfillable void that can only be satisfied by the spilling of innocent blood, but that just told me that he has major mental issues.

"What could cause a normal being to snap this badly? He surely is past the point of return sanity wise." I deducted aloud. I would most likely have to do a little research on the sadistic fellow. For now, I had to get ready for her day job. Working at a local coffee shop as a barista was a fulfilling duty, I thought. Giving people the energy sources they need is a very satisfying deed. I did so with pride.

Of course this was all sarcasm. I most likely had to tangle with her more...eccentric customers. Arguing verbally has become a regular day to day occurrence at my hasty job. So much hectic energy always zapped through the air when taking on so many orders at once; it was proven impossible to wind down for even the smallest nanosecond at my chaotic job.

And then I had my night job. The job of an aspiring artist. I loved to create new bright, eye catching, breathtaking masterpieces. Now, you may ask yourself why I need two jobs if I'm so good at what I do. Why? Well, times have grown extremely hard for everyone. Not only this, but creating new art takes time. Doing one piece exhausts me. I need some time to recover and recuperate from my busy life.

Well, at least it used to be busy. Now with this nutcase running around threatening everyday people with their lives, I'm not going to have many customers until he is caught and executed. Damn, could this day possibly get any worse than it already is?


	2. Survival of the fittest

Author's note: I've updated the prologue; sorry it was so terrible to read. I'll refrain from using 1st person ever again in this story. =.= I suck at using 1st person. It's going to be in 3rd person's view from now on. My apologies. xoxo.

Chapter one: Survival of the fittest

It was very dreary as the sun broke away from the tumbling clouds and gleamed among the living. The rays cast upon the rolling green pastures and humble houses that resided here. Its glaring brightness warned the citizens of a new day.

A woman now exited one of the many similar looking cottages located on a rather steep hill. She collected her belongings in her driveway, weary that she would not have the time to collect her thoughts in time for work. She slowly proceeded to her modest P.T. Cruiser and slid into the drivers seat. She exhaled and inhaled in a pattern; maybe a start to a calming breathing exercise. Once she seemed to be sarine again, she took a cautious look at her surroundings.

"Paranoia is just curiosity masked as a death wish." she recited to herself. She couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of death that loomed over her city like a dangerous storm cloud. How could she? It's natural to be afraid of dying. Yet, she still had doubts that she was just overreacting _"Inner turmoil at it's best." _she thought bitterly as she gently closed the car door, adjusted in her seat, fastened the seat belt, and headed off for work.

Driving along the quiet streets of her neighborhood, she couldn't help but to look over at each passing house, in fear of seeing a gruesome looking creature.

_"Stop."_ she scolded herself quietly with a mental scowl. _"You're overthinking it, just like you overthink everything else." _Suddenly, a dog ran past her car, she gasped. She lost control of the wheel for a moment, swerving rapidly off the road. She yelped as she stomped on the break, praying to god she wouldn't die today. Once she came to a complete stop on the edge of the road, she scoffed and leaned further into her seat, rubbing her hands up and down her aching hands.

"How ironic" she bemused, "There is a killer on the loose and I was about to be killed in a car accident." She snickered with no mirth whatsoever. Ever so slowly, she reached for the steering wheel yet again and began to drive again. This time, she kept her eyes on the road and her thoughts to a minimum. She could muddle through these thoughts at a later time. Right now, she knew she had a job to do...even if she really just wanted to stay home and cower under the sheets of her bed.

**Meanwhile...**

Crimson danced to the floor in graceful ringlets, cascading down the throat of an unsuspecting victim. The jugular vein has been sliced sloppily, causing blood to ooze and jump from the deep wound. Blood stained the man's clothing. His knees giving away, he collapsed in a heap on the hardwood floor. The cold surface meeting his body was the last thing he would feel ever again. His world faded to darkness, black consuming his vision. His last breath was taken, his heart stopped thumping violently, now it lazily thudded...slowly coming to a complete stop.

His wife has met her fate merely an hour ago. Her stomach was torn open, revealing an empty torso. All her dislocated organs were organized neatly on the floor next to the bed. Her heart, kidneys, lungs, esophagus, her large intestines, her small intestines, her liver, and stomach were there, lying on the ground, never to be used again. blood coated the bedroom floor in thick, ghastly amounts. However, the most grotesque scene by far in this compulsive masterpiece was their daughter. She had to be no older than fifteen, her blonde hair draped over her face, caked in blood. Her head was turned down, parts of her skull cracked open to reveal her brain. She was hung by her neck from the ceiling, her feet dangling below her.

She put up a fight, nailing the sadistic intruder countless times with a wooden softball bat, punching him in the gut, and launching a kick to his groin once or twice before she finally met her match. She was then shoved against the wall, her neck constricted by his enormous gloved hands. He then proceeded to smash her head repeatedly against the wall, causing her skull to crack under his monstrous strength. She whimpered as he released her neck slowly, relishing in the sounds of her gulping for air. She was then gagged with a sock soaked in her father's blood. She screeched in pain around it, but it was no use. Her screams just came out as muffled groans of protest.

He then took a rope and a nail gun out of a duffle bag in a far corner. He took the rope and nailed it to the ceiling, yanking it once, then hung from it for a good minute. He smiled a crazed smile, obviously pleased with his handiwork. He then tied a noose using the remainder of the rope. He slowly turned to the girl. She had the eyes of dinner plates, her mouth sputtering muttered cries of pleas. He simply howled with laughter as he yanked her to her feet, grabbing a nearby stool and hoisting her onto it. He tightened the noose around her neck, giving her one last look over, he wiggled his fingers in a goodbye. He kicked the stool out from under her feet, leaving her writhing in midair, her head bobbing, her body quaking. A satisfying snap resounded throughout the room. He then gutted her, leaving her innermost organs to dangle from her body. The blood poured in oceans past her knees and to the floor.

The man responsible for all of their deaths simply turned his hunting knife over. He swiped it on a nearby bathrobe and looked into his gleaming weapon. He smirked at his reflection, staring in vain at his disfigured face.

"I'm beautiful..." He trailed off, and inhaled the smell of tart,metallic blood yet again. He could never get tired from it. It was an addiction. Just like alcohol is to alcoholics. He simply couldn't get enough.


	3. Suspicion sinks in

Chapter Two: Suspicion sinks in

* * *

As the woman exited her car, she stopped. She gave into her paranoia and surveyed the surrounding area. Everything seemed to be in one piece as far as she could tell. She cautiously made her way to the entrance, taking a shaky hand to the door handle. She blew a puff of air out in frustration and shook her head to clear all thoughts of the killer. She swung the door open to meet the friendly bloodshot eyes of her co-worker. She seemed on edge as well this morning, her head practically snapped up to meet her at the front of the shop.

"Good morning, Queen." She said in a soft voice, clearly not trying to impress anyone there. She wasn't much of a people person. She wasn't cruel or icy in anyway; she just had a hard problem with socializing. Mostly everyday, she just couldn't muster up the energy to maintain a conversation with anyone. Plus, she always seemed to say the wrong thing. So, as she matured, she learned to keep to herself and only to speak when spoken to.

Sure it wasn't much of a life. but she really could care less about other's opinions on her way of living. She was content with it, and that's all that matters.

"Mornin' Opal, how are ya feelin' today? Did you hear word of that slasher lurkin' around here?" Queen inquired. Queen was a very kind soul; an older woman stuck in the era of decades past. Her wiry grey rooted auburn hair tied neatly in a high ponytail, sitting on the crown of her head. Her wise forest green eyes searched Opal's face. Her normally upturned lips turned into a concerned frown, deepened lines forming at the corners of her mouth from age.

"No, ma'am. Thank you for your concern, though. How are you faring?" Opal kindly responded, her lips inching down into a mirror of the other woman's expression. She wasn't very much one for small talk, but for such a kindhearted woman, she could make an exception.

"I'm doin' just fine. Thank you for askin', sweet pea." The elder woman's slight pout turned into her usual bright, cheery smile. "Of course now that there's a crazed man with a weapon running a muck 'round here, us pretty young ladies better keep an eye or two peeled. Ain't that right?" The older woman smirked wildly at the younger, a keen playful gleam in her foggy green depths. Opal couldn't help but beam back at the elder's humor.

"Oh, Queen. You're a chatty one this morning. Ah, and Opal, a pleasure seeing you here as well. At least two faithful employees showed up today. All of this talk of a killer and every single one of your co-workers go running for the hills." Their boss spoke. He was a rather strange man, himself. He was balding, a thin patch of dirty blonde hair sitting on the top of his head, the rest seemingly nonexistent. He was a particularly lanky man, with the exception of his wide face. He was a fair manager, yet he had his peculiar tendencies. He was rather scatterbrained at times.

"Good morning, Samuel." Queen and Opal chimed. Samuel simply gave a nod and brief half smile before returning back to paper at the corner of the bar at the front. They didn't open for another two hours, so youngest of the trio left to put a pot of coffee on. As she was filling the coffee pot with water there seemed to be a commotion outside, a clatter of a trash can onto the pavement. She casually brushed it off as raccoons rummaging around in the thrown out sweets they tossed yesterday.

"Damn raccoons...Queen, do you mind taking care of that?" Sam asked with a sigh.

"No worries, I've got it." Queen sulked to the door, when suddenly she felt an icy cold hand lightly grip her shoulder. She hesitated for a moment before turning. It was only Opal.

"No, please. Allow me, Queen. However, while I take care of the rascals could you put the pastries on the cooling rack?" Opal smiled politely. Queen gave her a salute.

"You got it, boss!" She exclaimed, beaming all the while. All three of them shared a quick chuckle before going on with their business.

Opal ventured outside, plucking the ties of her apron nervously. She was anticipating the turn of the corner, gripping the ties until her nails nearly pierced her palms. She released the death grip she had on her apron ties, noticing the crescent shaped imprints on her palm. She lightly traced them with her index finger, scowling at the new flaws.

"Lovely." She breathed sarcastically. She turned the corner with her shoulders squared. She cocked her head when she noted not one of the metal cans turned onto its side. Yet, examining closer, she noticed a dent in one of the empty cans, about the size of a football. She frowned, assuming it was just a young child being juvenile out of boredom.

"Teenagers, some have no sense..." She sighed. Lifting herself off of the ground, she hoisted one of the nearest bags onto her shoulder and carried it to the dumpster at the back of the building. She winced as the bag put pressure on a bruise forming on her left shoulder. "I'm working myself to death..." she exaggerated, huffing as she threw the bag into the bin.

She then proceeded to shut the top of the bin, not noticing the pale, scarred face behind the metal fence behind the dumpster, and paced back to the entrance of the store. She hesitated, her hand resting on the door handle. She whipped her head back, searching behind her back. She caught some kind of movement around the corner, a white blur disappearing behind the store.

"What on earth..." She trailed off, rushing into the shop. She wasted no time asking for the store keys.

"What's wrong, Opal? Usually you're so calm, tranquil. You look shaken." Sam inquired, noting the startled expression etched on her young face. Her eyes shifted from the door back to her manager.

"There was a dent in one of the trash cans. I just assumed that it was a little prank an adolescent child played on us, but then I saw something rush past me. I don't know what I saw, I really don't." Opal spit in a hurry. By the time she was done sputtering her account of what just happened, she was gasping for air. She nearly fainted on the spot when one of the glass doors flew open, a cold gust of autumn air rushing in. Opal gasped and whirled around shivering. The figure standing in front of her eyes was unusual and rather suspicious.

A lanky man limped into the shop. His hood pulled over his tangled mop of greasy, inky hair. Dressed in a white hoodie, mangled black dress pants, and large workman's boots, he really was a sight to see. With his head down, he approached the counter. Queen turned with a smile on her eager face. It dropped as soon as he lifted his head. The elderly woman stared in shock, gapping at the image that was obscured to the rest of the employees. She dropped the pot of fresh coffee she had been holding, it shattered on the floor, the scalding liquid splattered everywhere, searing her ankles.

She hissed in pain, quickly jerking her head back up to the face of the man. Her eyes widened as if something clicked inside of her head. She brought her hands to her mouth as she quaked in fear. Her breath suddenly became faster, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. Opal rushed over to her co-worker, gripping her forearms and forcing her to look at her. She looked as though she had seen a ghost. Her skin drained of all color, her eyes were huge, darting back to the face behind of the younger females back.

"Queen, please. Are you okay, darling?" Opal beckoned her with her eyes, rubbing her arms in a soothing manner. The elder woman looked to her and shook her head, gesturing to the male behind her.

Opal slowly turned to meet the object of Queens fear. Opal quietly took in a quick intake of shallow breath to calm herself. This was the man from the news. The same man that had murdered countless victims was here, standing in their humble cafe. His face was even more grotesque in person. The skin of his cheeks was torn into an ever present grin, mocking her. His eyes ringed with a thick black ash; his eyes seemed as if he had lost sight in them a long time ago, a milky color forming over his exposed irises. His nose was upturned, nostrils wide and the tip brittlely thin. His large lips were chapped, bleeding between the deep cracks, a deep crimson coated them. He was truly something out of a night terror.

"May...may I help you, sir?" Opal slurred in fear. She wanted nothing but to bury her head between her knees and cower in a corner.

He slowly turned to meet her gaze. More likely aware of her presence through her voice, he lifted a hand up to her neck. His pupils locked onto her eyes as his hand tightened its hold on her neck. She gasped as he traced her jumping pulse with his thumb. He let his hand gripping his weapon out of the pocket of his jacket.

Before Opal could blink, the knife flew from the offenders hand and landed in Queen's ribcage. Keeping his hold on her neck, he leaned forward to bury it deeper within the eldest's torso. A slew of blood oozed from the wound onto the man's hand and the floor, coating the surrounding area with the thick red liquid. Queen's face was scrunched up in agony. As she let loose a string of profanities being hissed through her clenched teeth, he pulled the knife from her chest to her neck. He slashed a cut up the front of her throat, blood pooled down her front. He stood from his crouch and tore over to Samuel, who was frozen in fear, shock, and disgust. The male released his grip on Opal's neck and snapped the managers neck, a sickening crack joining the sound of someone choking on their own blood.

Opal fell to her knees, shaking as sobs shook her body. Her arms came up to circle around her; she rocked slowly back and forth on her knees as a thick silence filled her senses. What was this man going to do to her? Kill her, no doubt. But how?


End file.
